


A Party to Remember

by dragonimp



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy's holiday parties are more political machinations than social events.  So why was Ed invited?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Help Japan auction on LJ.

Ed wandered from one room to the next, keeping to the edges of the party and eyeing the crowd. Aside from Mustang's office staff he barely knew anyone there. The house was filled with the upper ranks of the military and their spouses, all of them engaged in the sort of social posturing and polite one-upmanship that seemed to come with rank. Ed never could see the point.

He gravitated toward a familiar face, snagging a drink on the way.

"Hawkeye—is this a holiday party, or some sort of—" he waved toward the mob currently gathered in the sitting room, "political thing?"

She gave him a small smile as she sipped her own drink. "More of latter, I'm afraid. The brigadier-general's standing is still tenuous."

Ed looked up from his wine in surprise. "Eh? What's he done?"

She shot him a significant look. "Nothing—recently."

"Wh—it's over _that_? Still? That was years ago."

"Three years is not so long a time," she said quietly as she watched the crowd. "Not in this game."

"Oh." Ed contemplated his drink for a moment before turning back to the various people of rank in the room. When he'd come back from the other side of the Gate he'd found everyone—everyone he cared about—more or less as they had been. He'd thought that had been the end of it, that all the turmoil just before he left had blown over or been resolved somehow. It hadn't occurred to him that what had happened back then might be causing problems still. "So he's trying to win favor?" He hazarded.

"It's more that he can't chance losing favor."

"Oh," he repeated.

Ed took several swallows of wine and watched Mustang work the crowd, smiling and laughing as he moved smoothly from one group to another. In the past he might have seen that kind of thing as nothing more than egotistical rank-climbing, but he better understood the motives behind it now. Mustang would never have been able to accomplish everything he had if he wasn't a master at that kind of game. Of course he would still be at it; every person on the guest list was probably carefully considered for their position and potential advantage.

Which led to another question.

"So then . . . why am _I_ here?"

Hawkeye glanced at him, and her eyes softened for a moment with fond amusement. "You're here because Roy wants you here."

She left him to puzzle that out and drifted off to chat with one of the guests.

He knocked back the last of his wine and stared down at the glass. Mustang had personally invited him so Ed had figured he _wanted_ him here, but he couldn't figure out _why_. He didn't exactly offer any tactical advantage. Maybe that meant the motivation was more personal than professional, but he couldn't fathom _that_ , either. They just . . . didn't have that sort of relationship.

The young man shook the thought out of his head wandered over to the food table. Food was something he could understand. Hopefully a party this pretentious would at least have decent food.

He was poking around at the offerings of tiny pastries and strange spreads when he felt a touch on his back, and a familiar baritone said, "I'm glad you could make it."

Ed glanced up and flashed a grin, hoping he didn't look as off-kilter as he felt. "Well, I wasn't about to turn down free food."

Mustang chuckled. "I think I'd call the hospital if you did." He helped himself to some sort of cracker thing, and Ed thought the wine must be going to his head because having him lean over his shoulder like that was making him feel very strange. "I know this isn't really your type of gathering," the older man continued. "So I'm grateful you came."

Torn between shifting closer and stepping away, Ed grabbed something off the table and shrugged. "Eh, it's all right. If you like pretentious politics and brown-nosing, I mean."

Mustang was smirking at him, but Ed didn't dare look at him long enough to try to read whether the amusement was aimed at him or out of agreement for what he said. "Indeed. It's a fascinating study of the inner workings of society."

There was something warm in the way Mustang touched his shoulder before moving off, and Ed was thinking now that wine on an empty stomach hadn't been a good idea at all, because he couldn't wrench his eyes away from the carefully tousled dark hair, the set of the man's shoulders beneath the casual button-down shirt. He so rarely got to see Mustang out of uniform, it was nice to be reminded that he actually had a shape. A nice shape. Broad shoulders and a trim waist, and an ass that made those stupid, shapeless calvary skirts a crime—

Ed grimaced at his train of thought, but couldn't turn away until someone passed between him and the object of his obsession. Because "obsession" was exactly what it was; he'd spent most of his teen years too focused to really notice his sex drive, but once his hormones finally woke up they became intense and annoyingly mono-focused. He'd tried to shake it. He'd tried to ignore it. He'd tried to shift his focus onto someone else. He enjoyed dating, but none of it ever turned serious and he couldn't help but think it was in no small part because he kept circling back around to that one same point.

The young alchemist shoved a cracker-and-cheese stack into his mouth and went in search of another drink. If it had been anyone else, he would have gone after his desire ages ago. But Mustang . . . was Mustang. How were they supposed to go from not only superior and subordinate but adult and child to—to what Ed's hormones wanted? He didn't know where to start. Then there was the problem that Mustang obviously liked women. He'd probably laugh in Ed's face.

He refilled his wine and went back to watching. Mustang was talking with a young woman on the other side of the room, and Ed hoped she wasn't there as someone's date because he was clearly flirting with her. The man was in his element, all charm and confidence and Ed was captivated. It was manipulative and it made him want to knock the other man upside the head, but at the same time . . . he wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention. To have Mustang lean in close, like he had over by the food, but more . . . focused. To give him that smile, that laugh, casual little touches that seemed so familiar and affectionate. . . .

Before he realized it, his thoughts had gone from observation to fantasy. He could see him, hear his voice, _smell_ him, that sandalwood-amber-woodsmoke that must be his cologne or aftershave. He could picture the warmth of his body, the feel of his hands—callouses on the first two fingers and thumb, but otherwise smooth—

Someone jostled his shoulder and Ed jolted back to reality, choking and sputtering on his wine. The middle of a stuffy party full of important, pretentious strangers was not the place to let his imagination run wild, but it was a little too late. He felt over-heated and short of breath and his groin felt tight, and as he shot a frantic glance around the room for a safe place to bolt he was starting to feel claustrophobic.

A quick check showed the bathroom door was locked. There was probably a second one upstairs, but the staircase was in the living room and he didn't want to chance half the guests seeing him go up there. Dammit, all he needed was somewhere away from the crowd so he could calm himself down and talk his body into behaving, there ought to be _somewhere_ the party hadn't spilled into.

A locked door just off the living room was the first area he found. Ed rattled the knob, then pressed his hands together and surreptitiously rearranged the tumblers. He felt a little bad for breaking into a room Mustang had deliberately closed off, but he was desperate.

Once the door was shut, Ed leaned against the wood and took a moment to breathe in the dark and relative peace of the room. Damn Mustang for being so—so _Mustang_. And damn himself for being so susceptible to it.

Now that his eyes were adjusting, Ed realized that he must be in the man's private library. The walls were lined with books, some shelves stacked two deep. The only gaps were a window and a fireplace. Even the desk and chair were set in the center of the room, rather than block precious space that could be used for books.

" _Damn_ , Mustang," he breathed. Stepping away from the door, he ran his fingers over the spines, picking out what titles he could by the faint light coming in through the window. Alchemy books, many faded and worn with age and use. Political texts. Philosophy. And even—Ed had to pull one off the shelf and open it just to be sure—fiction. He could lose himself in here for hours.

Ed stopped in front of the fireplace and nudged the ashes with the toe of his boot A thin wisp of smoke spun up from the disturbed coals and drifted through the thin light, then dissipate into the gloom. Looking from the fireplace, to the overstuffed shelves, to the desk cluttered with books and papers, he realized that this room, much more than the front part of the house, was Mustang's home. The other rooms were just a public façade— _this_ was his true face.

Ed could just about see him, bent over the desk and frowning in concentration as he read some text, a pen in hand and a notebook close by. . . . He could hardly think of a more compelling image.

Except maybe Mustang getting up from the desk to pin him back against these bookshelves.

"Oh, _fuck_."

Ed turned back to the fireplace and braced his hands against the mantle. So much for getting his body to calm down. The fastest way to get this out of his system now would be to surrender himself to the fantasy and see it through—he hoped. At any rate, there was no way he could go back out there with the front of his pants tented out like this. He might as well take advantage of being alone while he could.

Closing his eyes, Ed pressed his hand against his crotch, imagining it was someone else pressed against him. Someone who had always taken great delight in teasing him and would probably work him to the point of madness before letting him come.

The thought made his cock throb and he grinned, but he never could muster up that kind of restraint on himself. He yanked the open button and lowered the zipper with two stuttery jerks, then paused, trying to steady himself with a breath before working himself free.

Ed bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud as he gripped his shaft. This was crazy, jerking off in the middle of a party full of near-strangers, but at the same time it felt so delicious. And knowing this was _Mustang's_ personal space he was defiling. . . .

The sounds of the party swelled for an instant and Ed froze, but when he raised his head and looked over his shoulder the door was still closed. He stared into the shadowed corner for a long moment and almost chickened out, but the throbbing organ in his hand nixed that idea. He needed to hurry up and finish because he was in no condition to go back out.

His glove rasped and pulled at the sensitive skin. He'd have to take it off soon, but for now it was perfect. He could imagine it was a different glove with a rougher texture, on a different hand. He could smell him, the scent must have soaked into the room. Sort of like the way the man himself has permeated Ed's life. He hissed. "Damn you, Mustang. . . ."

"Does that mean I'm invited?"

" _Wagh_ —"

A hand clamped over his mouth and another caught his flailing wrist, and he stumbled back against a solid chest. " _Shhh_! Sorry." Mustang's hands settled on his shoulders, his voice rich with amusement as he murmured into Ed's ear. "I thought you knew I'd come in here."

"Uh." His body was humming with adrenaline but Ed felt frozen. A large part of him wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the earth over his head because _oh god_ he'd just been caught jerking off by the very object of his erotic fantasy. But Mustang was all but holding him against his chest, and that warm presence and the deep voice were making his cock _ache_.

After a moment of Ed's silence, Mustang asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

Ed could only figure that his body had staged a coup, because his head had jerked out a _no_ without any input from his brain, and he cringed. Just what was he supposed to do _now_?

"Mmm." The hands on his shoulders shifted, and he wondered what the other man must be thinking, having found his once-subordinate masturbating in his library. Mustang leaned over his shoulder, and Ed cringed in embarrassment. "Are you going to take care of that? It . . . looks painful." If the bastard was finding the situation at all awkward, he didn't show it.

"U-um." Ed's cock throbbed in agreement, but how the hell could he jerk off _in front of_ Mustang?

The older man hummed again, the tip of his nose running along the edge of Ed's ear, and Ed suppressed a shiver. "In that case. . . ." Mustang's hand slid down his arm, and caught under the edge of his glove to peel the fabric away. He cupped their hands together, cradling the smaller hand neatly against his palm. ". . . May I?"

Ed closed his eyes, swallowed—and nodded.

At the first touch, Ed let his head fall back and thrust his hips. That was his own hand wrapped around his erection—but the pressure and the rhythm were outside of his control and that made all the difference. What had merely felt good before was now intense.

The rhythm broke abruptly and their joined hands squeezed around the base. He whimpered and arched, desperate.

Mustang chuckled and kissed his ear. "Trust me."

" _Bastard_ ," he hissed through clenched teeth. But he relaxed, letting his forehead come to rest against the taller man's neck.

"Mm, that's better. I can't let you jerk off any which way in my library."

Ed swallowed a groan. The rhythm was picking up again and he pressed back, twisting his free hand in the clothing of the man behind him like a lifeline.

Mustang's lips traveled over his ear, his cheekbone, while his hand slid across his chest. "Close?" A thumb that wasn't his swiped across the swollen head and Ed panted, open-mouthed, just keeping from crying out. "Mm, yes, you are close, aren't you, Ed." The sound of his name purred right into his ear sent chills across his skin. "Just a little more. . . ." Mustang punctuated the sentence by drawing an earlobe between his teeth. His fingers circled in on a nipple and rubbed, the cotton feeling like sandpaper on the sensitive skin. Then he pinched, and Ed's world briefly went white.

As he caught his breath and his senses started to return, the full realization of what had just happened started to dawn on him. Ed cringed; the bastard would never let him live this down, he knew it.

Except that said bastard was currently holding him against his chest and wiping his hand off with a handkerchief. As if all this was normal.

"While this wasn't what I had in mind," Mustang mused into his ear, "I'm glad you found a way to . . . _entertain_ yourself."

"Fuck. I didn't _plan_ to do this," Ed muttered. "It just—sorta—happened."

"Mm. I'm sure."

Ed opened his mouth to respond when the other man pressed a kiss to his temple, and his retort died in his throat.

"I need to get back out there before my guests start feeling neglected," Mustang continued. "But I would like . . . _very_ much . . . to continue this."

"O-oh?"

"Can you stay tonight? After the party?"

"Yeah. S-sure. Don't have anything else planned."

"Good. But for now, I'll need you to release my pants."

"Ah!" He snatched his automail hand back. "Sorry."

Mustang's response was to briefly tighten his embrace and lip his ear in a way that could very easily bring them right back to where they started. "The party should wrap up in a couple hours. I'll be looking forward to . . . your _company_. After."

Ed nodded, as Mustang's hands slid away.

He watched as the other man calmly stepped out of the room, looking to all the world as if nothing untoward had happened. As soon as the door closed the young man braced his shaking hands against the mantle and closed his eyes. "What—" he hissed to the empty room, "—the _hell_ . . . just happened."


	2. Chapter 2

Ed loitered around the back of the living room while Mustang saw the last of the guests out the door. None of the guests of rank had taken much notice of him, but he didn't want to chance anyone wondering why he was still there. Although he supposed Mustang would be the one to have to deal with that.

Speaking of, just what was he supposed to say to Mustang now? _So, you caught me jerking off. Yeah, about that_. . . . Talk about an awkward ice-breaker.

Ed righted a potted plant and scooped some of the dirt back into the pot. Now that he thought about it, the worst hurtle was past. Mustang had found out—not in a way he would have liked, but the end was the same—and hadn't rejected him. No, he was pretty sure that had been the exact opposite of a rejection. And nothing that happened now could possibly be quite as awkward.

The front door finally closed, and a solitary set of footsteps moved toward him across the hardwood. Fighting a sudden case of butterflies, Ed gestured to the mess left by the party. "It's a good thing you don't actually use these rooms."

Mustang chuckled. "Noticed that, did you?"

"Well, it was kinda—obvious—" Hands settled on his hips and he stuttered into silence. Ed let himself be turned around, and met the other man's eye despite the blush he could feel rising.

"I should be mad at you," Mustang said, smirking down at him. "I had that room shut off for a reason. And now I'm going to have to repair the lock."

Ed ducked his head, grinning self-consciously. He _did_ feel a little bad about that. "Hey, desperate times and all."

"Mm." Mustang cupped his chin and tilted his head up, his other hand coming to rest on the small of his back. "But in truth, I'm rather grateful." He smirked again, his dark eye dancing with mirth and—if Ed could trust what he was seeing—affection. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have waited."

"Waited for wh— _oh_. You bastard!" Ed punched him in the chest as the implication sank in. "You _knew_. All this time you knew that I—and you never—" He hit him again for good measure. "You _ass_."

"Forgive me—forgive me— _ow_." Ed might have felt more forgiving if the other man hadn't looked like he was about to start laughing. "Ed—" Mustang clamped him to his chest and tried to pin his arms. Ed squirmed enough to give him one last punch to the side, but then relented and let himself be subdued. Even if he was peeved, it was kinda nice being held like that. " _Ed_. I didn't want to push you."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if he was being played—it would be just like Mustang to try to twist this to his advantage. But he seemed genuine for once. All Ed saw was amusement and—again—affection.

"Now then." Mustang brushed his knuckles against his cheek and cupped his jaw. "Are we going to fight over who could have done what and when, or—" his thumb traced Ed's lower lip, "—enjoy the rest of the evening?"

Ed _hmph_ ed and glared, and considered biting the thumb just out of spite. But after a moment of consideration he twisted his hands in the front of his shirt and pulled him down.

It was almost as much an attack as a kiss. Mustang met him with equal force and they dueled back and forth with lips and tongues for several moments, until Ed nipped his bottom lip and pulled back. "Nn. Fine. I need some fun after that stuffy party, anyway. But don't think I'm done with you, Mustang."

"Mmm. I wouldn't expect you to be." Mustang leaned in and kissed the side of his mouth, his jaw, then his neck. "But it's 'Roy.'"

"U-uh?" Ed was too busy trying to give those lips access to his pulse-point to register what he was saying.

The other man chuckled as he mouthed a spot just beneath his ear. "You're no longer my subordinate," he murmured against his skin. "We can be a little more . . . informal."

"Uh-humm. . . ." Ed yanked on the shirt in his hands until the buttons came free, exposing a nice expanse of throat and a tantalizing bit of chest. "How 'bout I just call you 'bastard.'" He leaned forward to flick his tongue along the pale skin.

"You did that anyway." Mustang tipped his head back and Ed accepted the invitation to devour his neck. "Mmmm . . . you want to know what my favorite part of that 'stuffy' party was?" His hands slid down to knead the young man's ass, and Ed pressed close, going up on tiptoe to suck on the skin behind his jaw. "Finding you in my library. That was . . . the best holiday gift I could have asked for."

"Hmn." Ed nipped at a tendon before dropping back on his heels. He knew he was leaving marks, but he didn't care. Part of him hoped Mustang _did_ get awkward questions at the office, it would serve him right. "If I'd known you liked men, we could've done this long before now."

Roy sighed, with a rueful half-smile. "I wasn't deliberately keeping that from you. A lifetime of hiding can be a hard habit to break."

The admission brought Ed up short. He knew that some people weren't comfortable being open, but Mustang was so confident and downright arrogant most of the time that it never occurred to him that that might be the case.

"But that was another life," he continued, his hands caressing the young man's hips and waist. "My biggest concern right now, is whether we try to make it upstairs—or I take you right here, and now."

Ed snorted, and tugged him toward the stairs. "Upstairs. Because once we're done, I am _not_ going to drag your lazy ass up to bed."

Roy yanked him back and caught his chin. "What makes you think _you'll_ be in any kind of shape to do the dragging?"

Roy swallowed his answer with a kiss, a slow, demanding slide of lips and tongue. When Ed pressed back, sliding their tongues together and refusing to give an inch of ground, Roy tightened his grip and moaned into his mouth.

"Bedroom," the older man husked when they broke apart. "Now. Or we'll never make it up there."

Despite his words, Ed had to all but pry himself out of his hands. Roy grabbed for him and Ed darted away, and their trip up the stairs quickly turned into a race. They arrived at the bedroom breathless and laughing, barely pausing to flick on the bedside lamp. Mustang caught him before they got to the bed and attacked his neck. Ed squirmed, twisting around until he could get his arms around his back. While the other man was distracted and off-balance, he braced his feet, bent his knees and lifted.

He had just enough height to get the taller man's feet off the ground. Ed grinned as Roy squawked and scrabbled and grasped at his shoulders in a way that was anything but dignified. He turned and dumped him on the mattress, immediately climbing up to straddle his hips.

Mustang, flushed and grinning, wasted no time in unbuttoning the younger man's clothes, yanking the fabric off his shoulders and hips as if it offended him. The appreciative sounds he made as he ran his palms over the skin and metal underneath were enough to make Ed blush. He quickly ducked down to avoid comments, and provided distraction by licking and sucking at the expanse of exposed chest.

Ed slid one hand lower, cupping and kneading the bulge he found in the other man's trousers. Roy quickly came to full hardness under his hand, gasping and arching and fumbling for the button to his fly. Ed pinned his hands and rubbed him through the straining fabric, taking great delight at the way he twisted and wriggled and tried to make it look somewhat dignified. This game had potential.

But not for tonight. He took pity and released him from the clothing, dipping his hand in to stroke his full length before hopping off the bed to tug the pants off completely.

Roy propped himself on his elbows and shrugged out of his shirt as he watched Ed remove the last of his own clothing. Desire and hunger were clear on his face as his gaze traveled over the younger man, and Ed gave himself a moment to take it in. It was more than just physical appreciation, Mustang wanted _him_. And Ed wanted to both give himself over to that hunger—and to claim him in return.

Over the last year or so, they had fallen into a friendly game of dominance and one-upmanship, like a pair of dogs who couldn't quite settle the alpha position. It had gotten to the point where neither of them was concerned with "winning" so much as enjoying the latest round. That give-and-take would add a certain flavor their time in the bedroom, Ed was sure of it. But tonight, with the memory so fresh in his mind of another hand controlling his own—tonight he wanted something else.

Ed crawled back onto the bed and knelt over the other man. "Just this once, I'll let you have your way with me," he said, as he hooked his fingers beneath the strap to the eye patch. Roy flinched as the patch was slid away, and Ed gave him a sympathetic smile before he turned to drop the stiffened fabric onto the rest of the clothes. "Call it an apology for breaking your lock."

"Just—just this once, huh?" he said, his voice only a little uneven. He smirked, running his hands up the young man's thighs. "Maybe I should let you break things more often."

Ed grinned. "Don't push your luck."

"'Luck'." Mustang rolled them and pinned the smaller man beneath him, tucking the mismatched arms and legs inside his own before leaning down and nudging the tip of his nose. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Ed leaned up and caught his mouth. Roy took the cue and kissed him thoroughly, one hand twisting and tangling in his hair and finally working the tie free. The young man skimmed his hands over the broad chest and trim sides above him; for a desk lackey, Mustang sure kept himself fit. And Ed intended to enjoy every bit of it, now that he finally, _finally_ could.

"Mmmm tempting," Roy murmured against his mouth, "to devour you, just like this." He nipped his jaw and Ed writhed, delighting in being claimed. "But I want to continue what we started in the library." One more kiss, and he sat up, his single eye dark and shining with lust. "I didn't have nearly enough time then—to do what I _wanted_."

Ed just smirked, and held out his hands for Roy to pull him up. He obediently let himself be positioned, on his knees with his hands braced against the headboard. Turning his back wasn't something he normally did for a lover, but he hardly gave it a second thought. As he leaned back into the other man's chest and felt a hand stroke the inside of his thigh, it felt right. Mustang's cock slid against his hip, and he ground back against him. "Like this?"

"Yes." Roy swept his hair aside and kissed the back of his neck. "Exactly like this."

Ed rubbed his palms against the varnished wood as Roy rooted around in the nightstand. The thought suddenly struck him that, yeah, this was happening. This wasn't some overblown fantasy or wet dream, this was Mustang's mouth on his shoulder and Mustang's hand caressing his side, and Mustang's fingers sliding down the cleft of his ass, spreading lube and working their way inside. His cock throbbed as he was penetrated and he moaned, thrusting his hips back.

Roy chuckled and kissed his neck, his ear, his temple. "Have a little patience." His free hand scratched through the thatch of hair between his legs, then slid down to caress his sack. It wasn't helping with the patience. "Enjoy the process."

"I aaaamm. . . ." The fingers turned and spread inside him, and Ed whimpered, arching back to press his head against the other man's shoulder. "That's—the _problem_ —"

Roy gave his cock a sympathetic squeeze but refused to be hurried. He thrust and twisted and hooked his fingers, while his lips explored the side of the young man's face. Ed whined and tried his best not to squirm. When the fingers hit that one particular place inside him, he cried out and slammed himself back, nearly overbalancing them.

"There we are. Easy now." Roy steadied them, and eased the smaller man forward until he was leaning against he headboard.

Ed whimpered again but the tight grip on the base of his cock meant that he wasn't going anywhere. "That's enough, I'm ready," he insisted.

"Just a little more. . . ."

He grit his teeth and ground his forehead against the hardwood as Roy stretched him open and massaged his prostate.

After what felt like an eternity, the fingers slid free, and Ed felt something else nudge him from behind. He tried to press back, but Roy now had a solid grip on his hips, keeping him in place.

The older man pushed just enough for the head of his cock to breach. Ed tried in vain to impale himself but Roy's grip was firm. He eased his way in, with a series of shallow thrusts. By the time he was completely sheathed Ed was panting, and his neglected cock was aching.

"Delaying gratification," Mustang breathed as he fitted himself against the smaller man's back, "can make it all the sweeter. Now." He pressed a kiss to his ear, and shifted his grip. "Brace yourself."

Ed did as he was told. He panted and moaned, and cried out whenever his sweet spot was grazed, his hands slipping and scrabbling against the headboard. In the one small corner of his mind that was still coherent, he mused that if this is what it felt like to completely give himself over to a lover, to let himself be thoroughly fucked, he really ought to do it more often. Roy had one hand on his hip and the other arm tight around his waist as he pounded into him. His face was pressed into Ed's hair, just behind his ear, and Ed thought he could hear his name mixed into the breathy groans and gasps. His cock ached but he was too focused on snapping his hips back to meet each thrust to think of touching himself.

Roy tugged on his arm and Ed let him have it, too lost to question. He fumbled down his arm, then fitted their hands together. Just as it dawned on Ed what he was doing, their joined hands were wrapped around his cock. Once again it was his own hand that was pleasuring him, but the other man had the control, and he never would have imagined just how wonderful that felt. He groaned in appreciation, and let the thrusts move him through the tunnel of their fingers.

"Not—much longer—" Roy panted into his hair. "Just—a little—"

Ed howled as his world exploded.

A few thrusts later, and Roy was groaning into his neck, his hips stuttering an uneven rhythm as he rode out his climax.

Ed sagged against the headboard. Roy was warm and heavy against his back as they both panted and gasped, his arms looped around him and his face nuzzled into his neck. It was sweet, in a way, and it would all be very nice—if Ed's legs didn't feel like they were about to give out.

Roy shifted, bracing an arm against the headboard, and Ed grimaced as he pulled free. He would be feeling that tomorrow. But just as that thought hit him, another came in its wake: _more than worth it_. As he let himself be tugged back so they could both fall onto the mattress, he was already grinning.

Roy chuckled. "Well. Don't you look satisfied." He kissed the young man's temple, then reached back to grope on the nightstand for the box of tissues.

Ed snickered. Normally he'd return with something snide and ego-bruising, but he was far too worn out in the best kind of way. "Maybe you shouldn't've lead off with that. It's a hellova high bar to set for yourself."

Roy smirked as he cleaned the worst of the mess, then tossed the tissues toward the trash and reached for the lamp. "I guess you'll just have to stick around to see if I'm up to it."

As he wrapped the comforter around them, Ed squirmed around, pressing against the other man's chest and nuzzling the scarred side of his face. "No _way_ you're getting rid of me. I gotta get you back for leaving me hanging so long."

"Glad to hear it." A leg hooked possessively over his hips. "Because I wasn't about to let you go."


End file.
